


The Last Conversation

by FieryGaze



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Death, Hurt/Comfort, Is It Hurt/Comfort If They Both Die At The End, M/M, Mild Gore, Sad Ending, why did I write this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-15
Updated: 2019-09-15
Packaged: 2020-10-19 03:40:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20650595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FieryGaze/pseuds/FieryGaze
Summary: Linhardt and Caspar die together on the battlefield.





	The Last Conversation

He didn’t even see the blow that killed him. He’d been focused on enemies elsewhere, and he’d never been good at keeping track of too many things at once. This area wasn’t supposed to be the front lines, or he wouldn’t have been posted there. But, as he’d learned very well these past five years, things change.

An enemy soldier came at him out of nowhere. The weapon hit him in the stomach. He fired off one last desperate attack of wind magic—it sailed off into the distance, useless—and collapsed.

He lay facedown on the ground as the hot blood seeped through his robes and onto his clutching arm. The enemy soldiers ran past him, over him, wyvern wings blocking out the sun. He was ready to give up, to let go, but this, he eventually realized, was going to be a slow death. Painful. He’d seen many like it, these past few years.

The fighting continued, all around him, then started to recede. As the clamour of battle faded, he found himself waiting for someone to come find him. Just like he always did. But nobody was coming, not the person he waited for, not anyone. He’d been forgotten here with the other dead and dying.

Where he found the strength to stand, he didn’t know. It felt like his body was going to tear in half. There was a spear nearby, possibly even the very spear which had stabbed him. He took it, planted it to the ground with one hand, the other clutched around his middle, hopefully keeping everything in there.

Maybe he’d grown used to looking at battlefields. This one was like the others. The dead. The blood. He averted his gaze. Still couldn’t bring himself to look directly at the carnage. His own blood was easier to deal with.

He knew where to go—the area where the front lines were supposed to have been, before the surprise attack came at the Imperial forces from his side. He wondered to himself what would have happened if he and Caspar hadn’t been separated during this particular battle. Maybe one of them could have saved the other.

He started to move, shuffling steps, as if he were in no hurry. He had no other choice, really.

Linhardt walked. The dying blinked up at him, forgotten there too. He had nothing to offer them. The sky above was achingly bright, so he didn’t look there, either. Just ahead.

Finally, he arrived. This place was abandoned too; the fight had moved elsewhere, not even medics remained here now. He saw a staggering amount of enemy soldiers dead, mixed in with the Imperial forces. Did that mean they were winning? Who even cared at this point?

There. A shock of blue amid the fallen. Linhardt shuffled towards it. His long walk was almost over, thank the Goddess for that much.

Caspar hadn’t come to find him because Caspar, too, had been felled. He lay where he’d fallen, axe some distance from his hand, a clutch of arrows sticking up out of his torso. His eyes were open only a slit, staring blankly up at the sky.

Linhardt let himself collapse next to Caspar with a gasp of pain, letting go of his spear. His breath, his strength, all the things he was feeling—everything seemed to drain away from him. “What a pain… I came all this way… You couldn’t even stay alive for me…”

Caspar pulled in a reedy breath. His eyelids fluttered. “Can’t… kill me… that easily…”

“Getting shot six times kills anyone. You idiot.” Linhardt pressed a hand onto Caspar’s shoulder, willing any last spark of healing magic to come out of him. There wasn’t any. He was spent. Even if there had been a drop of magic left, all it would do was seal the wounds around the arrowheads, prolonging his partner’s death.

Caspar’s eyes focused a little, now taking in Linhardt’s torn, bloody robes. “Oh, Linhardt.”

“I guess they got us.”

“I should have… been there. Forget orders…”

“I agree… you could have gotten shot somewhere more convenient… save me the walk.” It was hard to speak, to remain upright. He eased himself down on awkward, half-numb limbs, beside Caspar’s still-warm body. “I’m tired.”

“Me too.” They lay there in silence for a time, laboured, ragged breathing. Caspar’s lung sounded punctured, if that grisly whistle was any indication, but still he insisted on talking. “Did we… do the right thing?”

“Who cares,” Linhardt said softly. Easier to speak now that their faces were so close.

“Guess you’re right. Doesn’t matter.” His breath caught. “This takes too long.”

Wordlessly, Linhardt found his hand, gripped it in both of his as hard as he could manage, as if to pull him back. Caspar grasped back, weakly.

“…Look,” Caspar spoke up again. Barely a whisper. “See the sky?”

“Too bright.”

“Let your eyes adjust.”

He did. It was blue up there. Brilliantly blue, the clouds enormous and bright and lazy, the kind of day Linhardt would typically declare perfect for a midday nap. Earlier, the sun had seemed hot, beating on his back as he fought. Now it was pleasantly warming.

“Just like back then,” Caspar whispered, voice rattling.

Yes. They’d lain like this before, holding hands, under that kind of brilliant blue. Linhardt could almost believe it was the exact same sky, that the hands of time had turned backwards for the two of them, bringing them to that place. There were classes soon. Maybe they would skip them, to lie a little longer together like this.

“Did I tell you recently that I loved you?” Linhardt asked, like he’d forgotten a grocery list.

A breathy noise, maybe a laugh. “Maybe you did… Did I tell you recently I love you?”

“You did.” Caspar was never quiet with his feelings.

“Okay. Good.”

That blue sky up there, it would keep looking the same whether they lived, whether they died. For a moment, Linhardt felt the hands of time spinning forward now, and in a rush he wondered where they could have gone from here. They would have left their families, he thought. Left his inheritance, his responsibilities. When they spoke of the future, it had always been After the War, After the War. Now he knew why they hadn’t planned. Feeling that future, clear and beautiful and precise as a cut diamond, slipping away now would have been unbearable.

Still, he couldn’t stop reaching for it. Where would they have gone? What would they have seen? Linhardt had never been one for regrets. He’d spent his life exactly how he wanted to. But, if they’d had a future… he would have liked to see it.

“Caspar…” he said. “Do you think…”

He turned his face. Caspar’s reedy breathing had stopped, his eyes still open partway, staring up at the sky above.

Always first… Caspar always rushed ahead of him. To every new experience, good and bad. Caspar would go first, and Linhardt would follow.

He grasped Caspar’s hand tighter and turned away from that blue, blue sky, nestling his chin against Caspar’s neck. Linhardt let out a long sigh, feeling his pain begin to fade, and went to sleep.


End file.
